Second Time Around
by Roguewrld
Summary: Week 1, Tribal Lore: That man was Pope, the last great medicine man of my people. Magnet: Jim and Blair have become magnets of weirdness.
1. Tribal Lore

"So, what did Gwen want?" Jim tried not to make her name sound like a curse as Blair hung up the phone. Blair spun around, his eyes wide and he let out something that sounded suspiciously like wo-hoo, then he grabbed Jim and kissed him.

Jim stood shocked for a moment, then started to return the kiss. The moment he did, Blair pulled away. "Sandburg?" Great. What had he done now?

"Yeah, Jim?" Blair looked angry now, but angry at himself or Jim?

"What the hell was that?" Once upon a time, Blair Sandburg sticking his tongue down Jim's throat had been a daily occurrence, but that had been a long time ago.

"That was a mistake, that's what it was." And before Jim could say anything else, Blair grabbed his algae shake and headed for the door.

* * *

Rhoda looked up from her computer and found herself eye to eye with a tall man, who looked Native American. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Detective Ellison." He gave no name and no reason for his visit. "It's very important."

"He's at his desk." When indigenous people come looking for Ellison, you point him out. Otherwise, people died.

"Thank you." He walked into the bull pen and sat down across form his objective. "Detective Ellison?"

Jim gave the man one look, then growled in Quechua, What now? The last thing he needed right now was trouble in Peru.

"I have no idea what you just said. I'm a Tewa, from New Mexico. I only speak regular Spanish."

"I'm sorry. I... it's been a long day."

"Detective, it's 10 a.m."

"I know." Jim took a long sip of coffee and tried not to think about the migraine behind his right eye. "What can I do for you, Mister...?"

"No names. My people have been watching you, James Ellison."

"Why?" At least it wasn't some Army colonel in here making vague accusations.

"Because you're the first Watchman we've found in more than three hundred years."

_Fuck_ "Not here." Ten a.m. was too early for lunch so... "Coffee. Muriel's. Fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Detective. You won't regret this."

Jim watched the man leave, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "That's what they all say."

* * *

The man was already there, drinking coffee, by the time Jim escaped the precinct. "All right. What is it you want?"

The stranger had a disarming look on his face that Jim couldn't bring himself to buy. "I want to tell you a story."

"A story." Jim let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Since the dissertation fiasco more than two years ago, a handful of men and women from around the globe had written to Blair, wanting him to know they knew the truth, glad to finally have someone to tell their stories to. "Blair's the one you should be talking to. He's been recording instances of-"

"Your partner has been offered a promotion, a spot on the Counter-Terror team in Seattle."

The headache, which had started to show signs of letting up, blossomed anew. "He's only been on the force two years. He's not qualified for something like that." Blair couldn't leave. Jim wouldn't... couldn't let him go.

"He's a Ph.D., speaks half a dozen languages, and has excellent profiling skills. The man's even been face to face with terrorists before. Why would they let a little thing like seniority stand in the way?"

"What you do you mean, he's a PhD?" Maybe this guy was a crackpot. Maybe...

"Your friend won his lawsuit. Rainier awarded him his degree."

"What lawsuit?" Jim wondered if he'd woken up in an alternate reality this morning. It would have explained a lot, actually. "There was a lawsuit?"

The man slid a file across the table. "After he joined the Academy, he was advised to get his credibility cleaned up. So, Sandburg sued Rainier for wrongful dismissal. Since, as you and I both know, his dissertation was true, and he could prove it, they had no choice. The decision came down this morning."

"Oh." How could he have not known about this? How could he have missed a fucking lawsuit? There had been clues, so many clues. It had been Gwen on the phone this morning, Gwen who Blair had been spending huge and increasing amounts of time with over the past few years, Gwen who specialized in contract law. Jim had spent the past two months ringing his hands, convinced Blair was getting ready to propose, to make that clean break they'd never been able to manage, and now this. "Why are you telling me this?"

"If he accepts this transfer, it won't go well for anyone in this city. A Guide, left to his own devices, more often than not will use his powers for evil. A Guide is born to care for his Sentinel. Without direction, they are unstable, and dangerous. When you found Blair, he'd spent his entire life in and out of therapy, running from woman to woman. He had panic attacks that were so bad, at one point he had to take a year off from school. When he met you all that went away. He became whole when he found his purpose." The man drained his cup of coffee before speaking again. "I've come to tell you the story of Pope."

"Pope?" Who the hell was Pope?

"While the British were subjugating our cousins to the east, the Spanish came West, into what is today New Mexico. The Spanish were looking for gold, and when they didn't find it, they enslaved our people. They forbade our religion and tried to erase our history, but it could not be silenced. One man stood against them. He would not allow the Spanish to destroy us. He preached to his people that the old gods were still in the kivas, and they were angry at the Spanish. That man was Pope, the last great medicine man of my people."

Jim thought of Incacha, then of Blair, and knew where this was going. "Your shaman."

"What do you know? He is capable of being taught." The man smiled, then continued. "Pope rallied our people and led them against the Spanish. He could not be caught; he could not be silenced. In 1680, he called together his followers and they summoned the old gods from the kivas. The time came to attack, and some of the men passed information to the Spanish but they told the them the wrong day. Somehow, Pope knew who would betray him. You're a detective. How did he know?"

"His Sentinel told him." Every tribe had a Sentinel, wasn't that how Blair always started his speech?

"That's right, and so it came to pass that the Spanish soldiers arrived two days too late to save their colonies. Their troops arrived only to find a scorched countryside. Our warriors had burned all the towns and killed all the settlers. We, the Tewa, pushed the Spanish off our land, but we paid a terrible price."

"I hate stories that have the words terrible price' in them."

The man ignored him, and just kept talking. "In the final battle, at Santa Fe, Pope lost his Sentinel. He held him while he died, and after that, he was never the same. He'd won us our freedom, but he couldn't help us keep it. Pope was mad with grief. Without his Sentinel to guide, without some focus for that tremendous energy all Guides have, he acted just as the Spanish had. He made his own people bow before him, taking slaves, using the former governor's carriage. This went badly very quickly for us. The Apache descended and laid siege to our villages. They killed men as they stood in the fields and demanded we pay them tribute. Imagine Attila the Hun sacking a Roman province, and you can imagine what it must have been like for us. Maybe we could have survived the Apache, but then Pope died. His government crumbled, Apache raids increased, and then the gods abandoned us altogether. In 1692, the Spanish returned and re-conquered what is today New Mexico."

"So your Shaman went a little crazy and inadvertently destroyed your tribe. That doesn't mean Blair is going to try and conquer Seattle when he gets there."

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention, Detective." The man sighed the sigh of the long-suffering and much-ignored. "Let's be blunt here. You have to learn from the past. Don't let him go. Don't destroy your tribe."

"I don't dictate Sandburg's life." Jim got up. He had to get out of here, fast, before his brain exploded.

The man took a picture of Blair from the file he'd brought. "If I were you, I wouldn't let him go, even if the tribe wasn't at stake."

* * *

He couldn't go back to work with the migraine from hell, so he went home instead. Based on the kind of day he'd been having, why was he surprised Blair was home?

His Guide was sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. This wouldn't have been so odd, except the TV wasn't on. "Dr. Sandburg, I presume."

"Who told you?" Blair sounded pissed off. "Because if it was Simon..." He trailed off. "Ignore me. It's been a long day."

"I said that same thing." He dropped onto the couch beside Blair. "Chief..."

"Please, Jim, can we not talk about it? I'm sorry, All right? What happened this morning, it was a mistake."

"The telephone call was from Gwen, telling you the news about the lawsuit. That's why you got so excited."

"That's right." Blair phrased his words very carefully. "You just got a little too close to my celebrating."

He could still hear how Blair's heart had sounded as he'd hung up the phone, then let out a whoop of joy. "You never told me she was your lawyer. You let me think that Blair Sandburg, commitment-phobe, had finally found a good woman and settled down. I thought you were leaving me."

"Where would I go, Jim? I'm not exactly in high demand." Blair's heart sounded rock steady, and Jim couldn't believe it. Blair could lie to him. When had he learned to do that? Stupid question. Obviously right around the time he'd started spending all his time with Gwen, drafting a motion.

"Seattle." Blair winced and Jim was almost glad. "Yeah, I know about that too. If you wanted to leave, you could have just _said_ something, Sandburg! When were you going to tell me, when you were loading your car?"

"You're not my keeper, Ellison. Hell, you're barely my roommate anymore." All the careful plans he'd laid, and he can't think of a way to defuse this?

"What if I said this morning wasn't a mistake?"

"Then I'd know you were a liar, because you haven't wanted to kiss me in three years. I'm not stupid, Jim."

He was tired, exhausted, and the pain behind his eyes just won't quit. "A man came to the station today. An Indian, from New Mexico. He told me the story of the last great medicine man of his people, Guide to the last Sentinel born to his tribe."

"What?" People like that never sought out Jim anymore; they came to him now.

"We had a nice chat about the Indian rebellion in New Mexico and a man named Pope." Jim had gone online after the man had left, and done a little research. The tale he'd been told had actually greatly understated Pope's madness. "You can't leave, Chief."

"How the hell did you find out about that anyway?" It was impossible to keep a secret around here, it seemed.

"This guy, he sounded worried, like if you left everything would go to hell. I believe him. I..."

"Don't say it, Jim. I can't do this tonight."

"You're wrong, you know. It's not that I haven't wanted to kiss you in three years. It's just that the last time I tried, when we were standing on that beach in Peru, you hit me and told me never to touch you again. I'm asking you to stay. I'm asking you to stay, and come back to me."

"I need a partner I can trust."

"Damn it, Blair. What do you want me to say? I wasn't the one who wanted to stop!"

"No, you just wanted to fuck the woman who killed me."

"I-" Jim felt like he'd been shot.

Blair covered his eyes. He couldn't stand to see Jim with that look on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did." Jim needed a drink, or a bullet to the brain. Right now, either would do. "When Pope's Sentinel died, he went mad, and their people lost just about everything. If you go..."

He couldn't hear any more of this. Jim Ellison, baring his soul, was just a little more than Blair could handle right now. "I wasn't really going to go. It's about friendship, remember?"

"I remember it being about more than friendship, once upon a time." Jim ran a finger along the side of Blair's face. "I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

"I'm not leaving, Jim. You can stop the seduction stuff." What seemed like a lifetime ago, yes, Blair had punched Jim and said never to touch him again, but that anger had long ago cooled off, and Jim had never tried again. Blair wasn't willing to put himself through the hell of losing Jim again, since as soon as he got over his abandonment issues, this would quickly go to hell. They were too different, they always had been, and those three years they'd had together had been a rollercoaster ride he was sure Jim was relieved to get off of. But try to leave, and those old biological imperatives kicked in..

"This isn't a Sentinel thing. This is an I love you' thing, an I miss you' thing and a stop torturing me thing! No one else can touch me anymore, did you know that? I am so starved for you that it hurts when someone brushes against me in an elevator, when Simon puts his hand on my shoulder. Do you know what it's like, living here and not being able to be with you? It's hell, Sandburg. We went backwards. This isn't how it's supposed to be."

It hurt when other people touched him? "You never said anything."

"Do I ever?" He let his fingers wander in Blair's hair, relishing the feel of it.

"No." Blair closed his eyes and let himself relax into Jim's touch for a minute. "I'm not going, but it was nice to be asked, you know? Means I'm a real cop."

"I know, I know." He ran his thumb over Blair's lips then kissed him. "It's been years, Blair. Have some pity."

"It's a stop torturing you thing, huh?" Blair smiled a little then stood up. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs." Blair pulled Jim to his feet. "It's a stop torturing me thing too."

* * *

Just outside the door of 852 Prospect, the Native American who'd had spent his morning with Jim finished his cigarette and tossed it into the gutter. "Well?"

"Mission accomplished." Another man stepped out of the shadows. "The Shaman isn't going anywhere. Especially not tonight. Your detective friend just handcuffed him to the bed."

"Tell me you're kidding, Chris."

"You know I don't lie to you." Chris started walking, and his companion followed. "You, however, lied to that poor man. Last great medicine man of our people, my ass. You may not be Pope, Joe, but you can still see the old gods, and last time I sat down for story time with the Elders, we've had a Sentinel in every generation."

"The story sounded better that way. I'm the Guide, I can tell the legend any way I want to." Joe glanced back at the window to Jim's bedroom. "Can you see them?"

"Of course." Chris sounded a little insulted.

"He was going to leave, no matter what he told Jim. I've been watching him. The papers are all filled out, sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk. He was just waiting for the courts to rule."

"He didn't sound like he was lying. His heartbeat was rock steady."

"He doesn't think of it as lying. God help us if anyone ever tries to give him a polygraph. The CIA would snatch him up." He wished, just for a moment, that he could see into the window like Chris could. "If Blair had left, how long do you think Jim would have lasted?"

"Last time you went on vacation without me, I got shot, so I say not very long." Chris rubbed at his shoulder, where the bullet had passed through. Oh, the Elders had been pissed. Chris hadn't been allowed off the reservation alone since. "The stupidity of the white man never ceases to amaze me."

"Pot, meet kettle. The white men aren't the only stupid ones. You were the one who told me to take a few days off. And what do you do? You get shot in a 7-11." Joe was cold, it was getting late, and he was sick of Washington. "I'm ready to get out of here if you are. I'm freezing."

Chris took one last look through the window and watched Jim as he remapped Blair's body. He wet his lips then smiled at his Guide. "Come on, Tonto. We've got a plane to catch."


	2. Magnet

"Sandburg-"

"Don't say it." Blair reminded himself the kid was new. He reminded himself he'd been this green not so long ago himself. He reminded himself that blood washed out, most of the time. "Just let me shower in peace, Zare."

"I really am..." Travis Zare had been stationed in Major Crimes for just three days and he was starting to understand all the winces he'd seen when he'd announced his new posting. "Your partner is going to kill me isn't he?" A cake run, the Captain had said. Take Sandburg, go and calm down the demonstrators. Just don't let him get hurt, or Ellison will cut out your entrails. Travis only hoped being covered in pig's blood didn't count as getting hurt. "Sorry."

"Don't. Let us never speak of this again." Blair opened his locker and dug around for shampoo. He had to wonder who's brilliant idea it had been to put a group of PETA radicals in the same convention hotel as the North Western Cattle Farmers Association. "I hope Naomi doesn't hear about this. She'd never live down her little boy being attacked by an animal rights group. I'm Jewish, you know. I don't even eat pork!"

"She moved so fast." Travis hadn't know little old ladies could move like that. "They're never going to let me live this down, are they?"

"Not a chance. Ask them about the vending machines some time." Blair finally found a bar of soap but it jumped out of his hand and skittered under the lockers. "This is not my day. Listen, Zare, why don't you go check on our friends in Booking. And ask Joel to keep an eye out for Jim. We don't want him seeing me like this, do we?"

Blair dropped to the floor and felt around for his soap. Travis tried not to think what an overprotective ex-Special Forces officer could do to him. Blair was absolutely soaked in blood, while he'd managed to escape with just a few splatters. "At least let me pay for your dry cleaning."

The door to the locker room swung open. "Has anyone seen- What the fuck did you do to my partner?" 

Trevor found himself thrown against the row of lockers and realized what this must look like to Ellison. Oh, god, he's going to kill me and they'll never find the body.'

"Jim, put him down!" Jim had been alone all day, and this morning Blair had helped him dial all the way down to normal, which meant all he smelled was blood. He couldn't type it. "I'm fine. Put him down."

Jim dialed up and did a quick check. The Guide was fine. He let go of Travis and the other man collapsed weak-kneed to the floor. "Alright. Somebody better tell me what's going on here."

"I'm just going to go..." Transfer. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. He'd get far, far away from Jim Ellison, just in case Sandburg had a scratch on him somewhere.

Jim waited for the other man to flee then tugged on a bloody strand of Blair's hair. "Not yours. I should apologize to Zare." 

"You think?" Blair pushed Jim aside and headed for the showers. Jim heard water hit tile and the smell of blood started to fade. "Listen. I need a favor. We brought something back from the protest with us."

"You mean someone." 

"No, I mean something." 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"I can't believe this."

Simon was already standing in front of the cell when Jim arrived, also failing to believe what he was seeing. "Jim, please tell me why there are cows in Booking?" 

"Sandburg."

"Why am I not surprised?" The two calves in the holding cell smelled and Simon just wanted them to be gone before Williams caught wind of this, (no pun intended.) "Animal Control refuses to put them in their normal trucks, so we're waiting for someone to drive in from farm country." 

"Sir-"

"Jim, I was having a meeting with the Commissioner when these two arrived. Now listen. I want them gone, gone, do you hear me, before he walks through here on his way out. I have to get back up there before he comes looking for me, so you're going to cowsit."

"But, sir-"

"Don't but, sir me. They're your problem now." 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Commissioner of Police Allen Williams was playing with Simon's supply of paper clips when he finally managed to get back to his office. "Let me guess. Ellison and Sandburg. Something bizarre, perhaps even beyond belief?"

"Always." Simon sat back down in his chair. "But despite all the strange-"

"Banks, in the past six months, describe a few of their high profile cases." Williams did not look happy.

"They're still working the Shiva case, but they shut down that bank robbery ring."

"The Brotherhood of Bank Robbing Mimes, you mean. Mimes who came to Cascade all the way from Florida to test their skills against your two detectives, if I remember the deposition right."

"When you say it like that, it does sound..." Simon cut himself off. "There were also those car thieves."

"Butlers obsessed with classic trucks. They stole... Sweetheart, is that the name?" Detective Ellison hadn't slept for an entire week when his truck had gone missing. "And let's not forget the group of masons they upset. The ones who bricked them into that abandoned warehouse scheduled for demolition."

"Commissioner, with all due respect, you cannot fault them for attracting all the weirdos. We do give them our toughest cases."

"Be that as it may, I'm starting to consider them a safety hazard. I understand the Koreans have sworn a vendetta against Sandburg because he arrested their leader."

"That's-"

"The leader was wearing fishnets and corset at the time. The tabloids ran the pictures on the front page. Sandburg has shaped into an excellent cop, I will give you that, Banks. But he's a danger on the streets. Putting those two together generates this cloud of bad luck and weird cases. Need I remind you what happened the day Sandburg started his ride-along?"

"You cannot blame Brackett on Sandburg!"

"I can. The boy is trouble. We need to get him off the streets and into a nice safe desk. There's a research position open. They'd love to take him off my hands."

"You can't do that. This department needs him." Simon had never thought having an anthropologist on staff would be so useful. And that was only the stuff Sandburg could do that Simon let himself think about. "Jim needs him."

"We can promote Ellison. This whole Sentinel thing has been more trouble than it's worth." Allen had put up with a lot and he was at his limit. "One more disaster and we're shipping that boy to Olympia." 

"You're talking about splitting up my best team. My team with record high closure rates."

"As good as they are, they're not worth the expense it causes to clean up their messes. Have you heard all the Due South jokes?"

"It's my policy to ignore them, sir."

"Well, I'm not. One more incident, Simon, and I'll have to split them up." Allen dropped the paper clip chain back onto Simon's desk. "One more thing before I go. What was the emergency?"


End file.
